Blindsided
by thestubb
Summary: Clint didn't realize how much he needed two new bundles of raw, ragged chaos added to his already insane household. Also, he didn't realize how much an enhanced teenage male could eat. Or, in which Clint Barton adopts the Maximoff twins into his family. AU. Spoilers for AoU.
1. Chapter 1

**Ah, yes. Time to jump onto the train of Hawkeye adopting my favorite psychopaths. Basically, this will be a series of oneshots documenting whatever insanity goes on in the Barton household, and how the Maximoffs add to it. Laughter, tears, shrieks and hugs will abound. Hope you all enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Avengers, would I really be writing this?**

OoOoO

He wakes up to bright lights and soft whirring.

Pietro's eyelids slowly lift, drawn upwards by some unseen force that pulls him unwillingly away from the gentle darkness that encompasses his being. First one eye, then the other opens, showcasing a blurry scene of white and black and cold.

His tongue is thick and dry, his lips numb and fat, and he can't seem to be able to muster the breath in his throat to say anything (he's so numb, in fact, that he doesn't even register the tube fed down his throat). Even his fingers barely cooperate; despite his best, clumsy efforts, all he can do is an infinitesimal twitch.

Is there anyone in the room?

 _No._

Yes?

 _No_ , his brain snaps at him. _Go back to sleep._

So he complies, allowing himself to be borne under the crashing, lulling wave of slumber that pulls him away, back to the blessed darkness, even as a fuzzy shape enters the doorway and calls his name.

oOoOo

Something hurts.

One eye rolls open and he immediately protests both the stabbing pain in his side and aching white in his skull. A garbled moan drains from his throat, congealing next to him on the mattress and lying in a puddle of misery. His chest is on fire, his throat dry, his brain empty.

"Ei..ro? C...ou h….e?" he hears, as if from a distance, and the sound both booms in his head and is nothing at all.

He wants it to stop.

"Ope…uor eyes," the voice commands, and some unseen thing within Pietro demands he obey. So he does, crystalline eyes fluttering open to take in a drug-induced haze of his surroundings. He can smell the medication in the air (he's taken enough of it, during his teen years of experimentation, to easily recognize the scent), feel the crisp cleanliness crawling up his exposed arms, hear beeps and whirrings and clicks that should all point to some conclusion, but he hasn't quite figured it out yet.

"Good," the voice says, and Pietro manages to roll his eyesight over in its general direction. The visage is blurry, but he can tell it's not anyone he knows. It's fat and white-haired (or white-clothed? Or both) and hovers next to Pietro's bed.

How is he doing that?

"Does anything hurt, Pietro?" the fat voice questions. "Blink if it does."

How the hell is he supposed to not blink? What if he didn't hurt, but he needed to blink, so he blinked and said yes when he wasn't supposed to blink and say no but he messed it up and blinked when he shouldn't have? And-

 _But you do hurt_ , his inner monologue reminds him.

Oh yeah. So what the hell, he blinks, and the action causes a chain reaction that immediately begins shutting his mind down and dragging his body away on the black tide once more.

Except, as he goes, he catches a glimpse of dark red hair and a high pitched voice calling his name.

He wants to stay.

oOoOo

His third (or fifth or tenth or fifteenth) time waking up is much more pleasant than the previous. This time, it's dark in his room, the window shades pulled up so he can see the sliver of moon risen above the surrounding buildings. He's still groggy and a little out of it, but when his eyes open he doesn't immediately want to leave again.

He swallows, dry throat contracting, and realizes he doesn't have a plastic tube invading his stomach anymore, and also that his wrist is the sole owner of dozens of needles and tubes. _Hospital_. (He's never actually been in one, but he's heard stories) He twitches it curiously, but the action moves his bare, scratchy bandage-wrapped chest and sends a ripple of pain shooting through him. He tenses, wincing, and his mind suddenly remembers Sokovia, and the Avengers, and fighting bombs robots Hawkeye child shooting bullets Wanda.

 _Wanda_.

The remembered name clears some of the haze from his mind, and he manages to raise his head to look for her. As if she would be here, his mind mocks him. Surely she is with the Avengers, putting back together-

But the splay of red hair by his hip, nearly blending in with the murky blackness surrounding them, resolves that panicked train of thought. She sleeps, half of her body in a plastic chair next to his bed and half squished next to his legs, ending in the mess of crimson tendrils spread over the coverlet and the bumps signaling his hips.

He smiles, eyes softening as he takes in the sight of his entire world slumbering and probably drooling next to him. He reaches a weak hand up and places it on top of her head, feeling every strand loop over his fingers, every modicum of warmth emanating from her skull.

The movement wakens her, and she lifts her head and blinks, slumber still blurring her eyes. "Hnn?"

"Go back to sleep, _myshka_ ," he rasps, using his pet name for her and letting his hand fall to the mattress.

She stiffens, almost falling off the bed. "Oh, Pietro," she sobs, scrambling up and falling as carefully as she can upon his bandaged chest. Her arms encircle him, grip his skin, and cling with a touch so desperate he will never let her go. He returns the embrace, clasping her to him with everything he is worth.

The doctors find them in the same position in the morning; one haphazardly flung on top of the other, Wanda drooling on his chest and Pietro's fingers laced in her hair.

oOoOo

Each of the Avengers come to see him. Steve is quiet and brings a card ( _Thanks, kid._ ). Tony enters with a fanfare, a crash, dozens of balloons and a massive teddy bear ( _Only the best for our little Speedy Gonzalez!_ ). Thor comes bearing an Asgardian drink that will dull his pain (as well as get him stone-cold drunk, Pietro suspects) ( _Your ancestors sang of your bravery in the halls of your forefathers!_ ). Natasha is courteous, bringing flowers and what snacks she can smuggle in ( _We all owe you._ )

Clint comes with Doctor Cho, gratitude, and a proposal.

"You think what?" Pietro asks dully, not sure if the pain medication has totally screwed up his senses.

"Allow Doctor Cho to explain," Clint orders, stepping aside to allow the petite woman full control of the conversation. She rubs her hands before continuing.

"Pietro, your body is entirely unique, and its abilities are both a blessing and a curse. Your accelerated metabolism is working for and against you, at the same time."

"I don't get it," he says (maybe he would if the high dosage of morphine dripping through his veins wasn't fogging his head, but she doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of explaining).

"A normal human being wouldn't have been able to survive what you did. Your body was, however, able to begin the healing process extremely quickly, due to to its high amounts of energy continually rebooting and cycling through living cell after living cell at a rapid pace, along with your super homeostasis-in essence, your cells went into hyper sleep as your body repaired itself. At the same time, however, it is also using up exorbitant amounts of energy. So it was better for you in the short run-it kept you alive-but it's also harming you in the long run."

"How so?" Wanda questions, studying the doctor carefully.

"He'll take longer to heal. He used up so much energy simply to stay alive keep his heart pumping blood, that it is still having to catch up, and that allows very little to go to his body. The Cradle repaired the tissue that his body was able to save before he came here, but it's going to take a lot of time to reach the potential he once was at." Cho gives him a sad smile. "It's a strange, unique tradeoff, but one we're unable to get around. I'm sorry."

"So, what...I can't run, or something?" he questions, suddenly feeling a little scared.

"No, you'll still have your capabilities, and you'll certainly live. But you'll have to work to reach them fully again. Don't worry. You'll still be able to run circles around us."

"Which is where I come in," Hawkeye states. He's found one of the doctor's swirly chairs, and is in the process of spinning in curlicues, starting slowly and working his way up to whizzing merrily around (Pietro's jealous).

"What you mean?" Wanda asks.

"My house is the perfect rehabilitation spot. It's secluded, off the map, and fairly safe. It's big-you'll have plenty of running space-and peaceful." Clint shrugs. "Plus...I owe you one. A big one."

"You are sure it will be safe?" Wanda seems unsure, and Pietro squeezes her hand reassuringly.

"As safe as anywhere. Certainly safer than the Avengers Headquarters. Lord knows it's bound to be blown up sooner or later." Clint smiles a crooked grin. "Plus, Laura makes the best apple pie you've ever tasted."

"We've never had apple pie," Wanda says.

Clint looks as if he's seconds away from a full-blown conniption. "You've never had apple pie?!"

"Papa hated apples, and, well. There was no pie in experimental facility," she clarifies, and Clint continues to look suitably horrified.

"You kids. That's the first thing you're going to eat."

"Wanda, maybe, but not Pietro," Cho says in a warning tone. "He must wait a little."

Clint makes a face, but doesn't offer an argument (it's probably for the better). Instead, he turns back to the twins. "Well? How do you like the sound of that?"

The siblings look at each other. Wanda seems eager but hesitant, searching Pietro's eyes for an answer. It's crazy, Pietro knows. He's spent the last ten years yearning for vengeance against people like Hawkeye. He's barely known the man more than a day. But...he thinks about having a home again. And being able to breathe, and a safe place for wanda.

It sounds really nice.

Pietro pauses, then grabs her hand and looks at the archer. "I think…" He lets a little smile touch his lips.

"I think it will not be so bad."

Clint's cheek-splitting grin seems to echo his feelings.

OoOoO

 **And there's our first taste of Bartonoff family. Hope your interest is piqued! Drop me a review to let me know what you thought, you lovely dollops of whipped cream**.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ohh, wow. You guys are awesome. The level of support for this is just phenomenal. Thank you for the great reviews omggg. Hopefully you like this chapter as much as the last. (And is anyone else in love with the idea of grumpyDad!Clint? Because I absolutely am)**

oOoOo

This car is too quiet.

As in, its occupants are. Because there is nothing wrong with a smooth, quietly humming SHIELD car that glides over the road with nary a bump, slowly skimming the rough pavement that surrounds his home. There is, however, something extremely unnerving about two hollow-eyed Sokovian teens who refuse to speak, only sit in the back with their fingers entwined and either stare out the window or through the mirror into your soul.

Clint wishes they'd taken a cab.

"You guys like music?" he questions, his only response being a little shrug from Punk the Elder. Taking that as an affirmative, he flips on the radio, filling the car's insides with big band jazz. Quickly flipping through stations, he cycles through Brad Paisley, Iggy Azalea, Little Mix, the Black Eyed Peas, and Frank Sinatra, all to his disgust. "What the hell are they playing these days," he mutters to himself. After a few more moments of searching, he finally stumbles upon some AC DC, and contents himself with that.

He's somewhat surprised to see Wanda's eyes immediately light up.

Finally, he turns onto the long dirt road that signals the start of his property. No matter how many missions he goes on, how long he's been away, or what shit he's been through, his stomach always thrums with excitement as the car bounces with every pothole, and right now is no exception (even though this car could be a hovercar or something. Damn SHIELD's tech). His face splits into a grin, and the twins shift to catch a view of their home for the next few months. Wanda leans over to press against the window, and even Pietro deigns to look interested.

"I gotta tell you guys," Clint says, "the kids are freakin' excited to see you. Like, ecstatic. So they might seem a little crazy at first. But they're good kids. And if they get too crazy for you, just tell them to back off a bit and they'll be fine. But I think you'll like 'em."

And slowly they pull into view of the little farmhouse. Clint's eyes soften as they take in the view of the beaten weathervane, worn exterior, and old-fashioned visage. There is no place like home. "It's cute, huh?"

Wanda sighs, and Pietro shrugs. "Is better than hospital." A smack tells Clint that Punk the Younger did not appreciate that comment.

They pull into the barn and Clint parks the car out of the way, in a special spot reserved for government vehicles. Much as he dislikes bringing work home, sometimes there's no help for it, and a discreet spot comes in handy. He cuts off the ignition, suddenly too excited to feel anything but impatience, and exits the car. Quelling his impetuosity, he opens the door for Wanda. "Ready?"

She nods and exits, Pietro following a moment after. They each shoulder their bag of belongings-both piteously small-and follow Clint towards the house.

He notices their grip on each other grows tighter.

The screen door bangs open, and Lila dashes out the door and down the steps. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" she shrieks, colliding into him with near deadly force.

"Heyyy, pumpkin," Clint greets her, gathering her up and swinging her into a hug. "How you been?"

"Good," she giggles, rubbing her nose on his. "Coop was bein' naughty, though."

"I was not!" the boy hollers from his perch on the porch railing, where he dangles a leg over.

"You were t-"

"Ookay, that's enough," Clint admonishes the two of them. "You gonna fight when I just got back? C'mere, Coop, I need to introduce you to someone."

Cooper eagerly hops down and runs to his father, where he is greeted with a kiss and rub of the head. Clint hoists Lila onto his hip and hugs Cooper to his side. "I want you two to...to meet…" He looks around, suddenly aware that he is alone. He swivels his head, and realizes the twins hang back. Out of fear or shyness, he's not sure, but they're obviously ill at ease. Pietro has just barely shifted in front of his sister, but he doesn't look angry, and Clint wants to make them comfortable as soon as possible.

"Hey, guys, it's okay. Come meet the fam." At his prompting motion, the two step forward cautiously.

"Coop, Lila, you remember I told you we were going to have some guests come stay with us? This is Pietro and Wanda. They'll be bunking with us for a bit. Wanda, Pietro, this is Lila and Cooper." He beams at his children, once again filled with a warm feeling in his chest at how much he utterly adores them. "Lila's 6 and Cooper is 10."

Lila suddenly turns shy, hooking a finger in her mouth and staring at the twins with wide, unblinking owl eyes. Cooper just waves, like the nonchalant ten year old he is. "Hiya."

Wanda murmurs a hello, and Pietro bobs his head slightly as the silence turns awkward. Clint's just about to suggest they go inside when Lila blurts out,

"Are you a special hero like Daddy and his friends?"

Pietro's eyebrows raise, and Clint freezes. "Uh, yeah, honey, they're...they're like Daddy." Might as well go with the vague, easy route.

"Can you shoot a bow and arrow too?" she presses, staring at the twins with a penetrating, 6-year-old gaze.

"No," Wanda answers, but she's holding back a smile.

"Then what can you-"

She's cut off by a blue blur snatching her from her father's hands and zooming across the yard, the fields, past the barn, past the pastures and chicken pens and trees before depositing her securely in her place once more. Her mouth is still open, frozen stock-still in shock as Pietro dusts his hands approximately 3.6 seconds after taking off. "That." He does his best to appear unwinded, and there's no mistaking his little infuriating smirk, but there's a wince in his facial expression that Clint can't help but notice.

Cooper stares at him in an attitude of pure adoration as Clint rolls his eyes and leads them indoors. Wanda chides her brother softly in Russian, watching him just barely touch his side as Cooper chatters questions and exclamations.

"Ooh-ooh, ooh, Daddy," Lila giggles, still shaking a bit, "he went fast."

oOoOo

"Honey, I'm home," he calls as the troupe steps through the door, his customary greeting echoing off the calls. "Babe?"

"I'm here, I'm here," she says, carefully waddling down the stairs. "Sorry, I was folding clothes and had to figure myself out. I heard you come in-hi, I'm Laura." She steps off the stairs, allowing Clint to pull her in for a warm kiss before turning to the twins. "I'm Clint's wife."

"I am Wanda. Thank you for your home," Wanda says, offering her hand politely.

Laura smiles gently and gathers her in a soft hug. "It's no problem. We're happy to help."

"Pietro," Pietro says when she turns his way. Laura studies him for a second before doing the same as she had with his sister, and embraces him too. He tries not to hear when her voice shakes the tiniest bit as she says, " _Thank you_."

"Mommy, Pietro goes really fast!" Lila pipes up from where she has already helped herself to a peanut butter cookie on the counter.

"So I've heard," Laura answers. "You'll have to tell me all about it after I show the kids their rooms, okay?"

"I can do that, honey," Clint says.

"I may be pregnant, but I am not incompetent."

"We're gonna be here awhile," Clint murmurs as she painstakingly starts up the steps, at which she turns around.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Hey." He gives an impish smile at his wife. "I like the view."

Laura scoffs and turns once more, and Pietro is starting to seriously wonder at the banter going back and forth when he feels something pressed into his pocket. He looks down, surreptitiously fiddling with the cloth, and finds a slightly cracked cookie stuffed down into the hole, now short a few hundred crumbs. Lila patters away, looking surprisingly innocent.

He can't help the warm feeling in his chest.

oOoOo

 **And there they are. Introduced and warm fuzzies already. Please feel free to drop me an idea for a peek into the life. I already have some stuff to do but I'd love some ideas. Also please leave a review-I love hearing from you lovely cookies.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Apologies for the lateness of this update! Life's been crazy and all.**

 **A few updates: I'm in college now! I'm a dorm baby...going to get starte don my cinema major. The bad news is updates might be a little erratic; the GOOD news is I have a laptop now! It's a Macbook and I'm so happy and now I can write again and I'm thinking of naming it Petey (My friend suggested Quicksilver and I can never say Pietro right so there comes Petey). So yeah. Hopefully I'll update frequently.**

 **Disclaimer: I owneth not Age of Ultron.**

 _oOoOo_

Clint frowns as he peers over his wife's shoulder, hands coming to rest in a protective circle around her protruding stomach. With all children either playing in their rooms or becoming quietly acquainted with the upstairs of the house, the kitchen is blessedly silent for a few treasured moments as Laura prepares dinner. He rests his chin on her skin, leaning his head against the base of her neck. "Hey babe?"

"Mmm," she hums, continuing to chop the pepper in her hand in an entirely nonchalant manner, though he can feel her muscles relax beneath her.

"You know I have total faith in your cooking and I love the food you put on our table, but is that going to be enough?"

Laura's eyebrows raise as she casts a glance at the chicken sizzling on the stove. Strewn about the counter are cutting boards, knives, vegetable peelings, spices, a toy car, and plastic wrappers. "I made more than twice the amount I usually do."

Clint gnaws his lip. "Well…"

Laura huffs a sigh, but he can tell she's not mad by the slight play at the corner of her lips. "Spit it out, Hawkeye."

"We do have a growing male teenager in the house, now."

"I know. Which is why I made double."

"Have you just not had enough time to go to the store? We have that big ole' check, might as well use the damn thing," Clint muses, but he's distracted by a tuft of hair at the back of her neck. He nips at it, nuzzling the soft skin at the base of her skull, and suddenly becomes very disinterested in the present conversation at hand.

"Big check?" Laura stops cutting and turns her hand, thereby rendering his attempts at sexual stimulation by hair-nuzzling null. "What check?"

He moves to the side to meet her gaze, hands roaming absently about her abdomen. "Did I not tell you?"

She laughs and gently bops his nose with a calloused finger. "I think I would know about a 'big ole' check'," she subtly mocks him, and he's tempted to just push her on to the counter then and there. Foregoing pleasanter fantasties, he fishes in his pocket and withdraws a piece of folded paper, scowling at the writing on its surface.

"Guess I forgot."

"What is it?" she enquires, wiping setting down the knife and wiping her hands on a towel as she turns to face him.

"Resources allocated us for the clothing, feeding and care of the enhanced we are entrusted with," he reports, allowing her to take the check from his hands. "That's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s explanation, anyway."

Laura's eyes travel the paper, lips barely moving as she recites the contents silently. Her mouth drops as she sees the sum. "What?!"

Clint shrugs.

"That is a lot of zeroes."

Clint shrugs again.

"Are you sure that they didn't forget a decimal point in there?"

"It's the government, my dear."

Laura's eyes travel to a large white folder on the counter, every piece of paper neatly tucked away within. "That makes Doctor Cho's instructions about Pietro's diet much less scary." Then, her eyes light up and she sends him a mischievous sidelong glance. "But, it's their first day here and I am out of chicken breast." Her hands snake around his back and travel down to his rear, and he starts to get really excited until she withdraws his phone from his back pocket. "We're going to need a pizza or two. Or maybe five."

 _oOoOo_

"Knock knock," Laura says, carefully pushing the door to Wanda's room open slightly. Wanda looks up from her perch on the bed, her fingers intertwined with each other. She seems surprised to see the pregnant woman carrying a large bundle of blankets. "I brought an extra blanket for you. Sometimes it gets chilly at night, around here."

Wanda murmurs a thank you and takes the soft blanket into her hands, pale fingers tracing nonexistent designs in the fabric.

"Are you settled in okay?" Laura asks, casting a glance around the room. Her jacket is hung in the closet, her backpack hanging behind the door. Her careworn boots neatly sit beside her bed. The room is as as spic and span as when Laura had finished cleaning it the ay before, and she's somewhat surprised. Shouldn't there be..something else? She knows the twins are the result of years worth of research, but come on. Teens are meant to be messy.

"Do all of your clothes fit in the dresser?"

Wanda shifts, eyes flicking downward. "I do not hef much, so yes, thank you. They fit well."

Laura frowns. "Not much as in...how much?"

Wanda shrugs and weaves her fingers in the fringe on the edge of her blanket, long, tapered fingers rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "You may look."

Laura crosses to the dresser and peers in the top drawer. A few pairs of underwear and some soft pants. In the drawer beneath, two shirts, a tank top and a pair of black jeans. The rest are empty, and when she opens the closet there hangs a dress and a jacket. Aside from these paltry items, the spaces are devoid of clothing.

Laura is appalled.

"Honey! Why didn't you say something?"

Wanda looks taken aback. "I-I do not think-"

Laura interrupts her by taking the fat check from S.H.I.E.L.D. and waving it in her face. "You see this? This is your ticket to a nice, big, comfy, _colorful_ closet." She eyes Wanda's deep red and black outfit. "You need some green."

Wanda looks pleased, a light blush dusting her features. "Is...is okay?" she ventures, and Laura smiles in return.

"Don't be afraid to ask for anything you need. That's why you're here."

The enhanced ducks her head, but a small smile still quirks the edges of her lips. Laura smiles as she observes the long hair that brushes over the slim figure, the dark lips, the heavily-lashed dusky eyes and fair skin. The Sokovian is beautiful, and Laura plans on ensuring, while she is under her roof, that she knows it.

 _oOoOo_

Wanda softly pads through the living room, her socked feet soundless as she crosses the floor. Her arms circle her torso protectively, her loose t shirt flopping against her slender frame in the deep shadows of the night. " _Brata_ ," she calls softly, approaching the frame standing against the sink. He peers into the night, watching the soft breeze toss the leaves on the trees as he sips from a cup of water. As she calls for him, he turns his head over his shoulder.

"Huh?"

She shivers as she steps beside him, rubbing her hands over her arms. Almost by instinct, he pulls her closer to his side, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Is good, da?"

Wanda lays her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to pause from the busy day. Taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes, her worries seem to fade away slowly into the distance.

"Mmm," she says in agreement. "Is...is good."

From far away, hidden in the deep shadows of the seclustered family room, Clint and Laura watch the two silently. His large hands encircle the swell of her stomach, pulling her deep into the warmth of his torso.

"How do you think they'll like it here?"

Clint pauses before answering. "I think they'll like it just fine."

Wanda thinks so too.

 _oOoOo_

 **Sorry not a lot happened in this chapter; hopefully by next chapter the setup will be done and the fun things will begin. Keep sending in requests! And thank you for all the support. Love you pooches.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Eyyy, it** **'** **s a somewhat reasonable update! Go me! Thanks for the awesome reviews; you guys are stellar. Keep it up! Keep sending in your ideas, you guys are already setting my wheels turning.**

 **Edit: Thanks to** **Niom Lamboise** **for calling out my spelling error; don** **'** **t write when you** **'** **re low on sleep, children.**

oOoOo

Wanda carefully flips through rack after rack, letting shirt after shirt pass by her fingers. Flannels, soft tees, and chiffon go past her scrutinizing gaze; every now and then a garment that passes her criticism is deposited in the cart that Laura pushes patiently in front of her. There's a lot of green and white piled in the bottom; namely because Laura refuses to have more than three articles of black or red clothing. Lila dances around, twirling and bobbing in the aisles and racks like a hyperactive fairy, sometimes offering fashion advice but mostly humming an original, complicated song that only her brain can conjure.

"Wanda, honey, look at this," Laura says, reading out to pick a long, soft, deep blue maxi dress from its counterparts. "What about it?"

Wanda's eyes widen, and she carefully gathers it in her arms. A smile breaks out on her face, and she meets Laura's happy grin. "Is beautiful," she breathes. "I had a dress like this, once."

"Oh?" Laura questions, unobtrusively inviting her to continue. In the past two days Laura has quickly learned that neither Wanda nor Pietro readily share information concerning their past. Every now and again they start on something, but they inevitably shut their mouths and fall silent while the other one changes the subject. It's like clockwork; each twin seems to know by instinct when they need to take over for the other. Laura and Clint can ask as many innocent questions as they wish about their lives, but when it became too hard to talk about the opposite twin infallibly swoops in to the rescue.

Needless to say, Laura is not going to let this precious opportunity slip through her fingers.

Wanda nods and runs her fingers over the long skirt. "The dress-it is long, and blue, like so. My mama buys it for me when I turn nine." She smiles sadly. "I wear-wore?-it all the time. Until it gets stained because Pietro knocks me into puddle."

She trails off, and Laura senses the moment is past. "Well," she says brightly, guiding Wanda's hands to the cart, "we have to buy it now. And make sure to keep Pietro away from any mud puddles."

Wanda laughs-a clear, bright sound-as they make their way to the dressing room, Lila babbling on about her favorite dress and how she couldn't wait to show Wanda but maybe she did and hey maybe they could match, with Wanda nodding and getting the occasional word it, but Laura can't help but notice the way her eyes travel back to the pile of soft material. There's something underneath—a pain, an ache, an inescapable hurt that won't ever leave, but when Lila's hand slides into hers and squeezes it, they soften.

And when Wanda walks out of the dressing room, thin and lean and clad in a dress that hugs her in all the right places and drapes to the floor, accentuating her curves and giving her the look of a river enchantress, Lila audibles gasps and Laura claps.

They immediately add it to the cart.

oOoOo

Clint stretches, one arm pulled back over his head as he tugs his elbow. In, out, in, out, comes his breath; a calming cycle for thirty seconds before he switches to the other side. His calloused fingers wiggle ever so slightly as they brush the nape of his neck, the only outward sign that he itches to start his workout, but he forces himself to breathe through each and every one of his stretches.

Across from him, Pietro does the same, although his heels tend to bounce as he transitions between poses. Every now and then, he leans to the side to shake out his chiseled calf muscles and let out some of his pent up energy.

"Easy, Tiger," Clint joshes. "I promise the farm will still be there after you're done getting stretched."  
Pietro shoots him an irritable glare, but his fidgeting lessens to some extent as he bends over and grabs the tip of his foot, pulling it close to his chest. "You know," he grunts, gripping his shoe and pushing his face closer to his shin, "I am capable of working out by myself."

"I'm sure you are," Clint returns smoothly, shifting to pull his ankle up by his rear and balancing on one foot. "You're also capable of busting yourself open again and ruining all that progress the good doctor did on your sorry ass."

Pietro scoffs into his leg. "She is too careful. I am perfectly fine."

"Tell that to your organs."

"I am!" Pietro protests, and Clint has to look away to hide the grin on his face.

"Be that as it may, a certain short Asian doctor is going to have my ass on a platter if you don't show up next week in perfect condition. So let's just pretend we're work-out buddies for the time being, hmm?" Pietro's expression morphs into that of disgust as Clint's tone becomes mockingly condescending, and Clint can't help deriving entertainment from the torture.

The teen shakes his head and stalks away, hopping back and forth and waving his arms to get his blood flowing. "Are you ready, old man?"

"Ready to kick your sorry butt?" Clint chuckles and stands erect, swinging his arms as well. "I guess we'll see."

They exit the barn and limber up, their sneakers making imprints on the soft grass as Clint mutters about getting out the lawn mower, along with six other random handy jobs to do around the farm. The sky is cloudy, but such a light grey there seems to be no chance of rain, which bodes well for the grueling workout they're both about to go through.

"Ready?" Clint asks. "Slow and steady at first, huh?"

Pietro scoffs, and says something Clint hasn't heard for a few months—"Keep up, old man." Then he's gone in a bright blue blur, dashing across the dull brown of the trees and the grass and he's gone.

Clint sighs and begins a steady warm-up jog, mumbling about quick little bastards and hoping he gets his ankle stuck in a hollow.

oOoOo

Laura purses her lips as she thumbs through racks. The more she looks, the tighter her mouth grows, until she's reached the end of the row and her mouth is smaller than a toothpick. Finally, she throws her hands up in the air and turns around, thoroughly exasperated. "What the hell! Why am I having such a hard time with this?! All I've found is this grey tee shirt and a flannel; this is so basic! What is _wrong_ with me?!"

"Mommy," Lila says sagely, a finger hooked in her mouth, "you shouldn't say naughty words."

Laura huffs an aggravated sigh, and bites out, "Yes, but remember Mommy's exception?"

"Only when Mommy's really really really really really really really mad," Lila replies, and continues spinning nonchalantly down the aisle.

Wanda laughs softly and lays a hand on Laura's shoulder. "Is not worth this fuss, Laura."

Laura gestures wildly with her hands, throwing a withering glance towards the hanging clothes, but a sheepish look overtakes her face. She shakes her head and runs her hands over her cheeks, chuckling. "Goodness. I can shop for a ten year old boy easily, but for some reason an eighteen year old is completely out of my league!"

Wanda shrugs ands rubs a nearby shirt. "Is not your fault. Pietro is not picky about most clothes."

"Well I am!" Laura replies. "The poor boy needs something decent besides those shirts Tony threw at him at a moment's notice."

Wanda carefully lays a soft tee into the cart, a brown flannel following it soon after. "He likes simple things."

Laura sighs and taps her fingers on the cart. "I don't know why this is giving me so much trouble. But you, you seem to know exactly what he needs—and wants—with no problems at all! What's your secret?"  
The teen bites her lip, staring off into the distance before finally shrugging and placing a light blue button up in the cart. "I suppose we simply know each other."

oOoOo

Clint gasps raggedly for breath, bracing himself against the nearby barn wall for support. His lungs can't seem to draw in the air they need to properly function, instead awkwardly inflating and deflating willy nilly and with no real purpose. He chokes in air as best as he can, sweat dripping down his neck in rivulets as he attempts to get his breathing back on track. Nearby, Pietro doesn't seem to be faring much better, as he bends over against a hitching post that hasn't been used in twenty years.

Their workout was brutal.

"Wha…" Pietro gasps out, his defined calf muscles trembling with the simple ta of bearing his weight, "wha…what is that?"

"What?" Clint huffs out, something in him annoyed that he has to even talk right now, while his cells call for relief.

"How can you do this?"

"Do what?" _Shut up, kid_.

Pietro gulps before he answers. "Do…what we…did. You do this every time?"

"Well, I rotate," Clint breathily shrugs, trying his best to sound nonchalant but in truth sounding more like a dying frog than anything. Truth be told, he's stepped up his workout just as tad. He really did try to start out slow, but the kid is so fast, and ridiculously strong, and he obviously didn't plan on going strong anyways…anyway, it's been a while since he's hardcore worked out, and 2, he's gotta show this little bastard who really runs this farm.

Boy, is he regretting this decision.

Pietro makes a sound that sounds like a suspicious cross between a whimper and a groan. "You are crazy, old man."

"Hey, give yourself some credit," Clint manages to reply, finally making an effort to stand up and cross to their precious water. He lightly smacks Pietro's side as he passes. "You weren't too bad yourself."  
Pietro scowls. "I am sloppy. This damn hospital has made me fat."

"You ringed the entire perimeter of my farm in 12 seconds."

Pietro swears under his breath. "Pathetic."

"Well, we can't all be stellar athletes after we come back from a near death experience." As Pietro approaches, Clint tosses him a water bottle and a towel. "Speaking of, how fares the injury?"

Pietro shrugs and gulps down water. "Is fine."

"Are you lying?"

Through a straight face, Pietro says, "My body is feeling like giant elephant has stomped on it. Honestly, is hard to tell much of anything at the moment."

"Fair enough." Clint can drink to that.

oOoOo

By the time the boys get inside from their tiring workout session, the women have arrived home and are depositing articles of clothing and miscellaneous groceries in their respective homes. As soon as Clint walks in the door, smelling of sweat and dirt and pain, Lila latches onto his leg and babbles about the purchase her mother allowed her.

He honestly tries not to cry.

Laura, having some compassion, swoops in to save the day, and orders Clint upstairs to take a shower before any kissing is allowed.

Pietro tries to sneak up on Wanda and overpower her with his stinky person, but her powers and the powerful stench surrounding him easily alerts her to his presence.

"If you try to touch me with your foul smell, I will punch you so hard, so fast, even your fastest running could not keep up with it," she snips, and he pauses.

"How did you know-"

"You smell like barbarian," she snaps, but she's laughing when she turns around. "I take it work out was good?"

"Fine," he answers blandly, trying not to give away the fact he feels like death personified.

Her smile fades away as she studies his face, and the way he holds himself stiffly. "You are in pain."

He debates lying to her, but knows she would know anyways. " _N_ _emnogo_."

"You worked too hard," she scolds him, but she keeps her voice down.

He shrugs off her worries, instead pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I am fine, _myshka_ ," he says. "But I smell. I need shower."

She doesn't seem convinced, but allows him to leave. "Clothes on your bed!" she calls after him.

Eventually he troops down to dinner, hair clean and fluffy, body properly relaxed and shiny. He's slipped on a pair of jeans, dark socks, a soft grey tee and a green flannel on.

For some reason, Laura looks very, very pleased.

oOoOo

 _Nemnogo_ -a little, slightly

 _Myshka_ -little mouse

 **Hope you liked it! Thanks for the support, guys; you are the bomb diggity. Hope to update soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**It** **'** **s been too long without some angst. I am the angst monster (if ya** **'** **ll have any recommendations for good angsty Maximoff fics, please send them to me. There aren** **'** **t enough good ones around). So here you go. Hope you enjoy it.**

oOoOo

The first time it happens, it takes Clint by total surprise.

After a week of settling in and getting to know the place, after familiarizing themselves with the grounds and animals surrounding the farm, after painstakingly beginning to assimilate into this strange little home, the twins slowly grow more and more comfortable. Though they're still guarded and tend to be quiet—especially Wanda—Clint can see the difference that even a simple week can make. Pietro laughs more and swings Lila around in circles until she can't walk in a straight line, and he's caught Wanda helping Coop build massive towers of bricks and Legos with her powers. They help with dinner, and once Pietro twisted a towel into a whip and smacked Cooper in the rear.

He's happy to see that they're happy.

At the moment, he sits at with Pietro, down in the living room as he sips a beer. He hadn't meant for it to happen, really; Pietro had simply been sitting in _Clint_ _'_ _s_ living room at eleven fifteen at night, pretty much lost in thought, and Clint has a right to do the same. His wife and children and the female half of his charges are all asleep, giving him a blessed moment of relaxation. So he takes a seat on the couch, next to Pietro on the love seat, and they're both content to sit in relative silence, commenting sporadic comments on the game that Clint switches on. Before he knows it, it's nearly one, but it's such comfortable, rare camaraderie that it's hard for him to say they should go to bed. So they sit for the next game, and Clint's eyes are actually starting to feel tempted to slip shut when he notices Pietro jerk, a hand flying to his head. A piercing shriek comes shooting from upstairs.

As if one, Clint and Pietro shoot to their feet. As Clint swoops down to retrieve a spare bow he keeps under the couch, he catches a glimpse of panicked blue eyes as Pietro whispers, "Wanda," before shooting up the stairs in a familiar blue blur. His feet sound _th-th-th-th-thud_ on the stairs, impossibly fast, as Clint nocks an arrow to the string and follows. He silently swears as his thick woolen socks make him slip on the hard wood, and another scream sounds, this time accompanied by a cry for help.

Clint moves a little faster.

Like muscle memory, he reaches the top of the stairs and swoops to his left, already tense and ready to fight should he need to. At the end of the hall, he sees Pietro clutching the handle of Wanda's door, jiggling it back and forth almost hysterically.

"Wanda-Wanda let me in-Wanda-"

A burst of red light crackles from beneath the door, accompanied by a strangled sob and babble in Russian.

"Wanda!" Pietro cries, banging his fist on the door. " _Vpusti menya_! _Pozhaluysta_ , _Myshka_ , _v_ _pusti menya_!" His hand crushes the knob as he wiggles it desperately back and forth,

Clint lapses into mission mode; his face is set as he marches down the hall, jaw just barely clenched. He approaches the commotion, and, without even warning Pietro to move, turns and kicks his leg up. Pietro manages to dodge out of the way, and in one sweeping motion Clint roundhouse kicks the door down.

Between flying splinters and a quarter of the door haphazardly waving on its hinge, Clint scans the room. The lamp next to Wanda's bed is knocked over, its bulb shattered, and glass litters the ground from a broken picture frame. Half of a cracked cup lies in a puddle of water on the floor. Wanda's blankets are thrown in a pile on the floor next to her overturned chair, accompanied by the few books she's been reading from downstairs.

And on the bed, Wanda sobs from where she cowers in the corner nearest the wall, clenched hands over her head pulling her down to her knees. Brilliant crackles of crimson spark in the air, one going off a foot from his head.

Pietro barrels in past him, clambering up on the bed and grasping for her arms. "Shh, _Myshka_ , shh," he urges, pulling her clenched palms from her head. "Is just a dream, is just a dream. _V_ _stavay_ , Wanda!"

She pulls away from him, her elbow catching him in the chest. He snarls in frustration and gathers her to himself, still keeping a firm grip on her wrists. "Keep still. Is just a dream. Come on. Come on, _Myshka_." Carefully, he rocks her back and forth, murmuring Russian nonsense into her hair as her frantic struggles dissolve in sobbing. She clings to his shirt, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder as she trembles.

After a habitual, cursory scan, and seeing that the situation does not involve a possible intruder threatening his charge's life, Clint sets down the bow and takes a step back, nearly running into his frowsy, sleepy-headed wife wrapped in a robe. Like clockwork, he encircles his arm around her waist, and they observe the proceedings quietly.

" _Mne zhal_ _'_ ," Wanda weeps into Pietro's skin, " _Mne zhal_ _'_ , _m_ _ne zhal_ _'_ , _pozhaluysta prost_ _i_ -"

"Shh," Pietro hushes her, cradling her gently. "Is all right." Burying his face in her hair, he murmurs gently in Russian as he clings to her as if he were lost at sea and she his only lifeline.

Eventually, her sobbing subsides, and she is left trembling in its wake. Clint debates on whether or not he should leave this tender moment, but then he sees Pietro gently unclasps Wanda's stiff fingers. He breaths a sigh and scolds her softly, and beside Clint, Laura gasps.

Blood drips out from between the cracks of Wanda's slender fingers.

"S-sorry," Wanda stammers, "I—I— _ya slomal_ _—"_

 _"_ Is all right," Pietro encourages her softly, using the back of his knuckles to move away the curtain of hair clinging to her face. Her eyes are swollen and tear streaked, and Pietro tenderly brushes a stray tear from her cheek. "No harm—can you get it out?"

Wanda sniffs and nods. Her chest hitches, and she has to steady her breath before concentrating on her torn hands. Red light bubbles along the cracks in her skin, and Clint can see tiny shards of glass pull themselves from her hands and hover in the air. She winces as they pull away, but doesn't waver. Laura appears, ghostlike, and when Wanda is done with her task Laura wipes her hands with antiseptic wipes and binds them up as Pietro leans over and disposes of the glass in a trash can.

Clint makes to leave the room as the ministrations end; now that he is obviously not needed, he feels that he should intrude no longer. As he backs towards the door, followed by Laura, he notices Wanda clutches at her brother a little longer, a little more desperately, than normal. Her hands brush the top of his chest, and every time he moves away her eyes grow the slightest bit panicked.

Jesus, that dream must have been rough.

Clint knows what that's like.

As the two adults leave quietly, Clint catches Pietro kiss Wanda's forehead out of the corner of his eye. The Enhanced wraps his sister securely in a blanket, murmuring some joke in the process. Wanda laughs softly, and Clint takes that as his cue to leave.

oOoOo

Something bothers Clint as he stares at Pietro over a cup of coffee the next morning. It's not there's anything wrong—on the contrary, though the bags under his eyes are a little darker than normal, he's joking and conversing with the Barton family easily. Laura makes a comment, and his eyes twinkle as he makes a snappy reply. Wanda rolls her eyes and sips her tea, good-naturedly debunking whatever her brother just said, and the kids are sleepy-eyed and laughing. All events of last night seem to be forgotten.

So what the hell is the problem?

He stews all through breakfast, and it's only after everyone but Pietro has left the table to go about their respective tasks that he realizes what it is.

"You felt it."

"Huh?" Pietro looks up from the newspaper he's perusing. His bed-head is crazy, ruffled curls shooting up every which way over his head, and Clint feels some kind of fondness for the kid.

"Last night. You felt Wanda before we heard her scream. I saw you flinch."

Pietro blinks and sits back, setting down the newspaper carefully. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, opens it again, and finally lets it snap shut.

"Why?" Clint prompts him.

"Ah…" Pietro gathers his thought carefully before continuing. "Is hard to explain… In laboratory, where we are enhanced, something happens. I am not sure what, but we are…joined, I think. Of course we are twins before, but now…" He huffs, frustration written across his features. "We have a link, yes? I sense her, and she senses me."

"So you can read her mind?"

"Not exactly, no. More feel. For instance, last night, when she has a dream. She feels in mind." He taps his temple for good measure. "Here. But I feel different."

Clint stares. This is magic science bull shit. "Not following."

"I just know. I feel here—" He thumps his chest. "But also in my mind. Is strange, I don't know. Wanda is better with this. I just run." He smiles wolfishly.

"So it hurts?"  
Pietro shrugs. "I suppose you can think of it that way, yes. But not physically. Mentally."

"But you know what she was dreaming."

"Yes." Pietro chuckles. "I am sorry if you thought someone was in the house; she does damage sometimes. If the dream goes long enough."

"What was she dreaming?" Clint asks carefully, feigning nonchalance.

Pietro's gaze darkens, his features falling. He messes with the corner of the discarded newspaper as he answers, "The day we became Avengers."

 _The day I died._ "Oh."

Jesus Christ.

"Does it happen often?"

Pietro shrugs. "Depends. Has not happened since we came here, though."

Well, that's one thing going for them.

Aaand that's enough of that. The kid's been up all night dealing with his hysterical sister, he doesn't need to relive dying all over again. Clint pushes his chair back, stands up, and stretches before downing the rest of his coffee. "Well," he sighs, "I guess I better go repair that door."

oOoOo

 _Vpusti menya_ _-_ Let me in

 _Pozhaluysta_ _-_ please

 _V_ _stavay_ _-_ wake up

 _Mne zhal_ _'_ _-_ I'm sorry

 _prost_ _i-_ forgive

 _ya slomal_ _-_ I broke

 **I hope you guys liked it! Drop me a review and let me know. Thanks for all your support, you stud muffins.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ohhh my word, I'm so sorry I left for this long! Please be appeased by some fluff. Also, now that AOU's out on DVD, guess who's going to be looking for that doggone deleted scene? (** _ **You know the one**_ **) (yes it's me I am trash and I'm going to cry).**

oOoOo

"What does meeshka mean?"

Pietro stops in his tracks and looks down at Lila. She innocently sucks on a blue raspberry lollipop, staining her teeth and tongue a brilliant indigo as the children of the house traipse across the large field by the farmhouse, kicked out by Laura so she can do some canning. Nearby, Cooper throws a stick for an overly enthusiastic Lucky, and Wanda collects a bright bouquet of daisies, buttercups and Baby's Breath.

He smiles as he sees her humming, the yellow and white of the petals a stark contrast to her black, soft shirt. He remembers being in Strucker's laboratory, his body nothing but blazing agony and death, and concentrating on reminding her of flowers and blue skies to keep her going. The fact that those dreams are standing in front of him with daisies in her hair and a happy smile on her face makes every agonized second worth it.

He turns back to Lila, her bright face still staring upwards expectantly. "What?"

"What does meeshka mean?" she repeats expectantly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You call Wanda that all the time. But her name isn't meeshka. It's Wanda. Right?"

Pietro is at a loss for a second. Meeshka…meeshka… _myshka_? "Well…yes… _myshka_ is nickname."

"A nickname?" It's Lila's turn to seem puzzled.

"Yes, a nickname." After a quick scan of the field, he sees Cooper tumble into the dirt after Lucky, no doubt getting grass stains on the knees of his pants (Laura will have his head). "You know when your father calls Cooper 'Coop'? Is same with Wanda. Only is _myshka_."

"I know what a nickname is," Lila scoffs, rolling her eyes. "But meeshka doesn't even sound like Wanda."

" _Myshka_ ," he corrects her. "Like my. And of course it does not. Is a nickname. It means something."

"What does it mean?" she questions, curiosity piqued.

"Is my language for little mouse."

Lila laughs and shakes her head, her little shoes kicking up pollen and grass with every step. "That's silly! Why is she a little mouse?"

Pietro shrugs, trying not to let past memories of happy times get into his head and poison his mood. "Our father calls her that, when we are little. He says she is too small and quick to be full human. And she is shy, and sometimes a little scared." He remembers hugging her during thunderstorms, and protecting her from bullies, and hiding from scary movies, and shielding her from bombs— _stop, Pietro_.

Lila gapes. "Wanda's a superhero, she's never afraid! Besides, Daddy says she's not scared, just smart."

Pietro arcs an eyebrow. "Oh, he does, does he?" A little warmth pools in the bottom of his stomach at the thought of Clint saying such things, even when they aren't around.

"Mhm!"

Pietro ruffles her hair. "Well, he is right there. Wanda is very smart."

"So why little mouse?" she presses, and Pietro sighs.

"I don't know. Is just what our father calls her."

Lila lapses into silence, concentrating on this for a while, and leaves Pietro in peace to mull over his thoughts. Wanda's pealing laughter echoes from nearby, as Lucky licks her face and Coopers rolls in the grass. The sun kisses his eyelids as he allows them to close, warmth spreading from his skin to permeate his very bones and shed some healing over the scars that still ache and pierce (he should be grateful for a body that allowed him to stay alive, but he wishes it wouldn't screw with him to this extent). It's almost lulling him into a comfortable walking doze when Lila asks,

"Can I have one?"

He starts and peels an eyelid open, arching his brow at her once more in what he should call his 'Lila' expression.

"One what?"

"A nickname."

"Oh. How about we call you 'Loud'?"

"No, silly," she giggles, nonplussed. "A nickname like Wanda!"

He frowns, then shrugs again. "Okay, let me think." He envisions Lila in his mind's eye, all flying limbs and ever moving body, her never ceasing chattering. He thinks of the bright colors that seem to follow her every where, from her clothes to her room to her food to the paint that her mother abhors. He thinks of her infatuation with flowers, and the menace that she poses to those she finds displeasing (such as Cooper). She is a colorful, violent little thing, he decides.

"We will call you _korovka_ , yes?" he finally says, breaking the expectant silence. "Little ladybug."

Lila seems pleased, testing out the new word. Her cheeks turn pink, and she laughs before grabbing his hand and sending them both running (well, in the loosest sense of the word concerning Pietro) across the grass towards their respective siblings.

And as he watches her collapse in daisies and buttercups, sighing in their warmth and threatening him with bodily harm if he doesn't wear the flower crown she fashions for him, he decides it is a good one.

oOoOo

"Well, look at you!" Clint crows at Pietro as the children troop back into the house. The sun has set long ago, leaving them with no course but to hunt for fireflies until long after, and they are grimy and happy, though famished. "Aren't you a pretty princess?"

Pietro resists the urge to flip him off (that and Wanda's foreboding presence hovers in his mind) as Laura hands him a burger, piling a few more on a plate for him on the table.

"Leave him alone, dear," she orders him, but she can't mask the smile on her face as she snaps a picture of Pietro's tousled, beflowered hair on her phone before allowing him to eat.

Truth be told, he'd forgotten about the damn thing.

"Daddy, Daddy, Pietro gave me a nickname!" Lila crows as she climbs on his lap, clutching her own burger to herself.

"Oh yeah?" Clint replies as he hugs her, suddenly looking mildly interested. "What is it? Stinky?"

"No," Lila laughs, "it's ko…kov…"

" _Korovka_ ," Pietro encourages her, laughing at her hesitant, bungled pronunciation.

" _Korovka_!" she repeats triumphantly, beaming at her father. "It means little ladybug. Because Wanda is a little mouse. And I asked him for a nickname."

"Oh yeah?" Clint looks at Pietro. "That's pretty cool. I still like Stinky, though."

Lila collapses with laughter as Clint smirks and asks, "I wonder if Pietro would give me a nickname if you asked him very nice?"

Pietro pretends to think for a moment. " _M_ _udak s malen'kiy chlen_ _."_

Wanda gasps and smacks Pietro's bicep, making him drop his burger onto the floor. Lucky snaps it up in a flash, and Pietro glares good-naturedly at his sister over the sound of Clint's guffaws.

"Yep, been around Nat enough to catch the gist of that one," he laughs, and Laura simply rolls her eyes and stifles a grin as she hands the teenager another burger.

Lila looks confused. "…That's a long nickname."

oOoOo

 _myshka-little mouse_

 _korovka-little ladybug_

 _mudak s malen'kiy chlen_ _-asshole with a small dick_

 **Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, again sorry for the delay. Please drop me a review! Say hi, say you liked it, hated it, whatever. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

Hello yes it is I the notoriously overdue chapter. Please be appeased with a lil fluff and a lil comedy and a sprinkling of Petey angst. I love you all and felt you deserved a (albeit late) holiday chapter.

oOoOo

Pietro lifts the lid of the pan and takes a deep sniff. "What is this?"

"Out," Laura orders, bustling over and waving her hands like the busy mother hen that she is. "No noses in pans." Her stomach, festooned in a turkey apron the size of the death star, stared at him cheekily from turkey eyes and feathers. In her hand, she holds a wooden spoon the color of red wine, dyed from the cranberries she's been stirring.

"But what is it?"

"Stuffing."

"Does not look like stuffing to me," he laughs, whisking out of her way to stand at the island.

"Pietro, dear, not in the kitchen," Laura sighs. "Today of all days, at least."

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "Can I help with this stuffing? Or anything?"

She stares at him for a second, then laughs and runs her fingers through her brown hair streaked with odd strands of gray, leaving trails of flour. "No, just put on some Queen and keep me company."

 _Leave her alone_ , Wanda's voice rings through his mind, and he sends her an irritable glance. She sits at the other side of the living room next to Lila, tracing hands and colorful feathers for hand turkeys to decorate the house with. _The poor woman is overloaded._

Pietro rolls his eyes and walks—whyyyy must he go so slowww, the world is so slowww—and pops in a CD. Soon enough, the first strains of Don't Stop Me Now, sung in Freddie Mercury's silky voice come wafting out from the speakers. Laura guffaws from the kitchen, and Lila giggles.

"It's Pietro's song!"

Even Wanda can't hold back a smile.

Pietro smirks as he strolls back to the island and takes a seat. He locates a knife and pepper Laura has set out on the counter and sets to chopping it, sticking through the flesh with the blade slowly. Laura hums along to the song as she stirs a different pan than the one he had been so interested in.

"So," Pietro ventures, stabbing a stray pepper seed, "what is Than…Thanksgiving?—Thanksgiving for?"

"Why don't you tell him, Lila," Laura says, not looking up from the stove. "What did you learn in school?"

Lila clears her throat dutifully. "Some Pilgrims went 'cross the ocean 'cause they wanted to pray and they went on a big 'ole flower ship and got sick after they landed on a rock but then they met some Indians who helped 'em stick some corn in holes and everyone got better so they ate turkey." She sticks her tongue out as she glues on a particularly stubborn turkey feather, clearly pleased with herself.

Pietro blinks and swings his gaze back to Laura, who smiles and shrugs. "That about sums it up."

"So, is like Turkey Christmas?" he asks, and Laura snorts, nearly upending the bag of flour she is tapping into the mixture on the stove.

"Minus the presents, you could say."

Digesting this, Pietro pauses before shrugging it off. "So, will you make _pirozhki_?"

"Make what?"

" _P_ _irozhki_."

"I don't know what that is, dear." Laura makes a face as she tests the spoon, then adds a trickle of salt. "Enlighten me."

"Is Sokovian food, like meat and such in pastry." Pietro swirls his knife around in the circle of vegetable clippings on his cutting board. "My mother makes at holidays, sometimes."

Laura pauses in her stirring and looks at him for a second. Suddenly, he can't find it within himself to look at her, because she houses him and feeds him inordinate amounts of food and maybe even loves him a bit, like mothers do, but all he can think about is his mother's hands preparing holiday food and hugging him tight. Against his will, he feels his throat constrict slightly— _why is he such a baby?_ Wanda touches the edges of his mind, feeling his unrest.

She puts down the spoon and steps closer, placing a towel and dish on the counter. Reaching over to his bent head, she runs her fingers through his messy hair, untamed no matter how he tries. "Someday you'll have to teach me," she says gently, and he looks up at her and smiles, his momentary lapse of emotional wall gone.

"Wanda is better than I," he replies.

"I know that feeling," Laura chuckles, and picks up her spoon. "Time was, I could burn a salad."

"Sounds like Pietro," Wanda calls, and Pietro sticks his tongue out at her. They dissolve into banter and swapping stories of cooking escapades and learning about this strange holiday with this strange food, and Pietro finds himself looking forward to tonight.

oOoOo

Pietro skids into the kitchen (with Laura not around, he is free to sneak in as much running as he can) and stops still. In the momentary lull between waiting for that last bit of turkey to cook to perfection and eating, while Laura and Clint converse about food and speak to the aunt and uncle that have come over for dinner, Pietro had come looking to sneak a snack to curb his hunger (the result of his advanced metabolism).

True to form, he finds one—along with mounds of dishes in the sink.

Laura has managed to clean some counters, but the dishes are too much for any one person to handle at this point in time. They are heaped in the sink and surrounding counter, some filled with sticky goop and soaking in hot, soapy water. Pietro stares at them, absentmindedly sticking a carrot in his mouth.

Laura could probably use some help, he decides.

With a snap on the end of the carrot and a crunch, he rolls up the sleeves of his soft flannel and turns on the water, turning it to a comfortable hot before grabbing a plate. Swiping at it with the spongey-stick thing Laura uses, he scrubs it carefully before setting it into the dishwasher. Grab, swipe, set in washer. He sets into a comfortable rhythm, breathily humming a random song under his breath.

He gets through the mountain in the sink and about 30% of the counter next to him when he hears Laura bustle into the kitchen.

"Pietro, what are you doing?!" she exclaims upon seeing him.

"Huh? Just dishes," he says, shrugging with the sponge and accidentally sending a spray of soap across the floor.

"No, no, no, honey. I can do that," she rebuffs him, moving to take the sponge.

"Relax, I've got it," he laughs, keeping it out of her reach. Seeing as she's eight months pregnant and considerably shorter than he, it's not hard.

"I can do these! You go have fun," she argues with him, but she's smiling and obviously pleased that he would think to do this for her.

"No, they are your family here."

"Pietro Maximoff, give me the sponge."

"I can do it, mama," he laughs, and then she goes still—he doesn't realize what he said for a moment before because it felt so natural— and the room goes quiet.

He's not quite sure why he said it—it just kind of slipped out. Sure, he's already been here more than two months, but that doesn't mean she feels like his mother. So why did he say it? He's a little confused and a lot embarrassed, so he decides to just gloss it over.

"I can do it," he repeats in a murmur, and shoots her a smile. It's little, but it lets her know there's no tension connected to his momentary slip-up.

She lets go and mirrors his smile, but it's a little smaller and a little sadder. She rests her hand on his shoulder, then slides it to his back and gives him a hug. Pausing there for a second, he allows himself to press back towards her and feel the warmth of her embrace.

She pulls away and pats his shoulder blade, then exits the kitchen, and his shoulder still tingles where she placed her skin.

She's not his mother—but maybe she could be.

oOoOo

The entire family—and couple—gather around the table, surrounded on all sides by piles of heaped food and drink. Cooper's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head, and Lila can barely contain herself, she's so excited. The Maximoffs are just trying to keep up with it all.

Clint clears his throat and rubs his hands. "So, I guess—"

Before he can continue, Lila pokes his hand. "Daddy?" she whispers.

Clint raises an eyebrow and looks down, pausing whatever speech he's prepared. Pietro could kiss her. "What is it, pumpkin?"  
"Can we eat now?"

Clint laughs and ruffles her already crazy hair, leaving her with more of a bird nest on her head than usual. Cooper looks like he needs to ask the same thing, because if Clint doesn't start some kind of food soon then the kid is going to inhale every pie on the table through his eyes by willpower alone. "Somebody's hungry."

 _Somebod_ ies, Pietro agrees, and Wanda titters in her mind. He loves making his sister laugh.

"Before we eat, why don't we go around the table and say something we're thankful for, huh?"

The assembled look around at each other before agreeing, and Clint goes first. Pietro agrees with this because it's his idea to do this thing, dammit.

"Uh, I guess I'm pretty thankful for such a great team of people to work with. And my wife." He shoots a goofy, overly lovestruck smile at Laura. "Always my wife." Thankfully, he doesn't mention the elephant in the room of being thankful that he's alive and breathing because Pietro ran in front of a spray of bullets for him. That would just make it awkward—plus Lila, and even Cooper, didn't know the extent to which Pietro nearly died.

"I'm thankful for cars," Cooper says. "And pie."

Succinct.

"I'm thankful for Pietro and Wanda and Lucky and butterflies and Mrs Anderson at school," states Lila very decidedly.

The couple say generic family or work related things, things Pietro is sure always come up at Thanksgiving, and he doesn't really pay attention, but then it's Wanda's turn.

"I am thankful…that we are here," she says simply, and her fingers grasp at his. "Just that we're here."

Pietro rubs her knuckles with his thumb and tries not to think about the feel of her dreams where her grief threatens to rip her apart limb from limb, and instead focuses on the warmth of her skin.

And then he realizes it's his turn.

"Ah…" he stammers. "I am…thankful for…" He tries to think of just one thing to say, because he has so much to be thankful for—his sister, and the Bartons, and the Avengers, and Doctor Cho, and so many people and so many things and just life in general—how can he pick one?

"I'm thankful for my family," he just says, and he doesn't mean just Wanda.

Clint smiles and Laura ducks her head and Wanda squeezes his hand and the guests nod and the kids really aren't paying attention because there's food, and there's so much more he wants to say.

But he doesn't know how.

And now it's Laura's turn, and all eyes turn to their last barrier between them and sweet relief of hunger. One hand on her swollen belly, one hand on Clint's lower back as he holds her tight, she beams at them all.

"I'm thankful for my children." Her gaze sweeps over the Maximoffs and stays with Pietro. "All of them."

He feels Wanda choke up in his mind, and as he eats he knows the warm, warm feeling in his stomach is not just from the mashed potatoes.

oOoOo

There it is, hope you like it. Drop me a review. Many kisses (Many Pietro kisses, hon hon hon).


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't like it," Pietro snaps, and folds his arms with all the grace of a snubbed two-year-old.

Wanda scoffs and throws her hands up in the air. He can feel the air between them thrum, her exasperation setting the atoms hanging in the atmosphere quivering. There was a time when her agitation would send lights popping and items crashing into walls, but she has such an easy hold on her powers now he knows she won't resort to that until he becomes truly insufferable.

" _Vy rebenok_ ," she says, and Pietro knows she's speaking the truth but he won't give her the satisfaction of telling her (not that she can't read his mind anyways, should she choose).

He draws in a deep breath through his nose and counts to ten mentally. His temper is dangerously close to getting the best of him, and though Wanda could easily mend any damage his flailing fists do, he doesn't want Lila or Cooper to potentially see his irritated displays. The room is silent for a moment, Wanda studying him carefully, before he speaks again through clenched teeth.

"You shouldn't go alone."

"I'm not going to be alone," she answers.

"Who are they, huh? _Oni nikogda nikto_ ," he scoffs, and his fist flickers towards a lamp. His fingers itch to smash something and run through the shards so fast they don't even cut his feet.

Wanda laughs without humor. "You call the Avengers nobody? _Perestat' byt' takim-_ "

"I should be there with you," he bursts out, and Wanda falls quiet. "I should be there with you," he says, quietly this time. "I should be right by you in case anything happens. I should protect you-"

"I think the only one who needs to be protected is you, _brata_ ," Wanda says, a quiet venom lacing her words.

"What is that supposed to mean?" _Stop, stop, stop_ , he thinks desperately to himself, but his mouth moves faster than his feet.

"Let's not forget the reason you can't come today," she bites out. "Or can you not remember the fact they pull _sixty-seven bullets out of your body_."

"I'm fine!" he waves her away; he knows she's right, _Wanda's always right, please shut up please shut up._ "You worry too much-"

"Stop telling me not to worry!" she yells at him, and a light bulb in the kitchen blows. Pietro is acutely aware of the thick silence from the living room. Clint and Laura must have ushered the children away from the dispute as it rose in volume. "You know I can't do that! Don't make me do that again, Pietro, don't make me wait in a hospital for days and days and look at your body and-and feel you die!" Wanda's eyes are fire and ice simultaneously, a dangerous light flaring within them as she leans towards him. "Don't you dare make me do that again, _sukin sy!_ Don't you _dare_ be that selfish again! You're not ready to go out into field!" Her fingers curl and uncurl, sending a nearby pile of legs rising into the air and then down again. He knows it's subconscious, he knows she doesn't mean to, and he can sense the memories running through her brain— _stop, stop_. "Stop treating me like a child! I can take care of mys-"

Immediately, he backs down verbally. He steps towards her carefully, reaching for her hand. His fingers brush hers as he stares into her distressed eyes, trying his best to send out calming waves through his own tumultuous thoughts. "Wanda, Wanda," he murmurs, and as she begrudgingly relaxes he pulls her towards himself. "Calm, _da_? _Vy narushayete veshchi. Dyshat'._ " He circles his arms around her and hugs her to himself, feels her fight him for a hot second, then melt into his chest. Within, all he wants to do is fight some more, but Wanda has been testy ever since Steve told Pietro he wasn't allowed on this first mission and they fought a week ago; at the rate things are going, her emotions might get the best of her.

And that can't happen in Clint's house.

Wanda presses her face into his sternum, and he rests his chin on the top of her head. Sometimes it amazes him how well they fit together—and the thought sends a flare of irritation through him, that she will be out in the battlefield without her second piece. They settle there for a moment, until Wanda speaks up.

"You're not ready."

"… _Ya znayu_ ," he whispers.

"I want you there more than anything."

" _Ya znayu,"_ he repeats in her hair.

"Please don't be mad."

"I'm not," he says. He's lying and he knows it and she knows it, but she lets it go because he's not mad at her, really; he's mad at the world and Ultron and this body that raises him from the dead as it destroys him.

"Go get ready," he murmurs, and lets her go.

oOoOo

The helicopter that will take Wanda and Clint to the main Helicarrier arrives at noon, and Pietro manages to simmer down enough to watch her leave.

He stands on the porch in his flannel and jeans, arms folded, and watches the agent escort her away, decked out in her formfitting uniform. She sends one last wave at him, and Clint gives him a nod that tells him the archer will take good care of her, and then they're boarded up and lifting into the air. The wind from the helicopter whips at his unruly hair as it rises into the sky, and for one wild moment he almost runs forward and jumps onto the nose.

He stays there long after it's gone, staring at the blank piece of sky the vehicle used to inhabit. He just stares into empty space, remembering a time he didn't feel useless and feeling guilty for wanting to go back, because that was when he was deceived and on the wrong side of things.

"You get used to it," he hears a soft voice from behind him, and turns his head. Laura leans against the doorpost, watching him.

"Huh?"

"Watching them leave." She sighs and steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It'll get a little easier."

Somehow, that remark sets the barely concealed anger in his chest absolutely boiling. The edges of his vision tinge red and black with anger, and it's all he can do not to flinch away from her touch. He needs to run— _now._

"I'm not going to," he bites out, and immediately feels guilty because Laura is not who he should be taking this out on, but he turns away. Two minutes later, he's changed into his running clothes and shoes and standing in a field with plenty of space for him to run.

Well. Plenty is a relative word.

After a short warm up, he's running as fast as he can, with all the strength he can put into his legs pumping his feet. Pieces of earth spring up beneath him, mud and grass and dirt raining down, and the trees are nothing but blurs stretching into infinities. He lets his emotions power his speed, going faster and faster. He knows Wanda would tell him to slow down by now, if she were here, but sometimes when he's truly upset he can disconnect their emotional link—and she doesn't need his anger right now.

So he runs, alone and angry and wild.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he can feel a pull in his chest. He pushes it aside, trying to blame it on nothing more than a stitch and not on the very real problem—namely, that this is exactly the reason he's been kept home today. He keeps running, putting even more effort into his steps, and feeling the ache grow and grow with each passing second.

But he still doesn't stop.

His feet keep pounding, and the earth keeps falling, and the trees keep blurring, and he goes and goes and goes and goes—

Until a sharp, striking pain shoots through his chest and sends him sprawling with a sharp cry. His momentum sends him hurtling through bushes and branches, smashing him into a tree and rolling to a stop a hundred feet after.

He gasps for breath, his vision blacking out sporadically. His hands clutch at his chest, grasping for the pain that stabs him and keeps him from breathing. He can't even move but for that motion, coughing and choking and gasping _can't breathe can't breathe_ —his hands tug at his collar, attempting to rip away the fabric, but the pain in his chest renders him weak.

"Pietro!" he faintly hears the cry through the ringing in his ears, and through the black tinging his vision a murky grey he glimpses a pregnant stomach and practiced hands grasping for him. "Breathe, Pietro, breathe."

He struggles and coughs, trying to say something but the words are lost in the oxygen he doesn't have.

"Stop," Laura says, and her face comes into his vision. "Pietro, I need you to breathe. Focus on my face and breathe with me. Ready? In: one, two; out: one two. In…"

She's frowning, and her lips are tight, and Pietro vaguely notices that her eyes are flecked with gold. He gets a grip on his lungs and struggles to keep time with her, but he does, even though his chest shrieks with every movement.

Eventually, he's able to get his breath back, and he rolls onto his hands and knees. His breathing still ragged, the pain in his chest has dulled to a low roar, now, and he can at least move. pink with embarrassment. "Sorry."

He waits a moment before looking up at Laura, his cheeks tinged

"What happened?" she asks.

"I…" What did happen? he wonders, realizing he doesn't know the answer to that question. His chest randomly exploded? His body decided to turn against him? "I…was not ready," he simply says, quietly, and stares at the ground he wishes he could disappear into. Stupid. Stupid.

Laura places a cool hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to prove anything, Pietro."

Pietro gasps out a mirthless laugh and can barely meet her eyes. "Don't lie to me."

"I promise you I'm not lying." Her eyes bore into his like drills. "Stop worrying about her. Clint will protect her-"

"Clint?!" Pietro scoffs. "Is Clint her father? Is Clint her brother? No. Her father is dead and her brother is useless." His fist slams into the ground. "Useless, useless, useless."

Laura watches him beat up the ground and says nothing for a long minute. They sit in tense silence, the air crackling with Pietro's pent-up emotions.

"Then fix it."

Pietro looks up. "Huh?"

"Fix it." Somehow, she's both cool and warm, motherly and stern.

"What…what you mean?" he pants.

"Get better. Stop running yourself ragged and work at making your body whole again."

"I don't-"

"You think I don't know when you sneak out at night and go running?" Laura's eyes dare him to contradict her—which he has no intention of doing. "You think I don't know this isn't the first time something like this has happened?"

Pietro's mouth works, trying to come up with anything to say to her, but he's got nothing.

Laura's challenging, fiery gaze softens, until she's staring at him from sad eyes. "Work at getting better, Pietro." Her hand reaches up and cups his cheek, her fingers touching the sweaty strands of hair stuck to his skin. "Get better so you can be there for her, okay?"

Pietro swallows and breathes, "Okay."

Laura watches him for a moment, then nods and releases him. "Now, help a pregnant lady up," she says, and he grips her hand. Her swollen stomach proves difficult to heave off the ground, but eventually they manage it, and make the short walk back to the house.

While they wait for their respective family members to come back, he showers so she can cut his hair. She trims it on the front porch, his fluffy, light strands floating away in the soft breeze, and that's where they are when the helicopter comes thrumming back. The kids run out to meet their father and adopted "sister", and Wanda looks like she's brimming with happiness but trying to hide it.

Pietro shakes his head free of any lingering pieces of hair from his shoulders and envelops her in a hug and silently promises he's going to get better.

oOoOo

 _Vy rebenok-_ You're a child

 _Oni nikogda nikto-_ they are nobody

 _Perestat' byt' takim-_ stop being so

 _Brata-_ brother

 _sukin sy-_ son of a bitch

 _da_? _Vy narushayete veshchi. Dyshat'-_ Yes? You're breaking things. Breathe.

 _Ya znayu-_ I know

 **You guys I am so sorry for the lack of update I'm so sorry. I promise I will try to do better in the future—no, I'm not abandoning this at all, I swear.**

 **In the meantime, if you have anything you'd like to see or ideas, shoot 'em at me in a PM or review and they might make it in! Don't worry, I still have lots of fodder, but I'm always open.**


	9. Chapter 9

**I wanted to make up for that horrid unintentional hiatus, so here's a quick update for you guys. I felt like I've been giving you guys a bit too much of angst lately, so here's some pure silliness to lighten the load.**

oOoOo

The kids are giggling.

Knowing this to be a potentially hazardous situation, Wanda halts her course down the upstairs hallway and backtracks, craning her head around the doorway into Cooper's room. The children face away from her, backs shaking with laughter as they huddle over something the older sibling holds. Faint strains of music come from the object, and Wanda can only assume it's a cell phone or iPod.

Lila cackles and Cooper ducks his head, trembling with laughter, and Wanda speaks up.

"What you doing?"

The kids whirl around and Lila jumps up, stumbling over her feet in an effort to reach Wanda. "Wanda! Wanda come watch this! Wanda it's so funny!" The small child drags Wanda over to her brother's side, forcing her to sit down on the soft carpet. Attempting to avoid the stray Legos spread across the floor, she crosses her legs and peers at the screen Cooper holds.

They've been watching a video of some kind. It's only one girl on the screen; dressed in a crop top and skinny jeans, her knees are bent and her rear is thrust out. As "Smack it smack it" blares from the iPod's speakers, she bounces her bottom to the beat, performing some kind of strange, apparently seductive dance. The kids collapse into laughter, and Wanda can't help but join in.

"What is this?" she questions, and Copper shrugs through his guffaws.

"It's called twerking!" he says. "Some kids at school showed me. It's funny!"

Wanda raises an eyebrow and continues watching the video, laughing helpless at the joy the kids derive from it. The video hops from short, six-second videos (she dimly remembers they're called 'Vines'), girl after girl getting down to the music, and there are even a few guys in the mix.

By the end of it, the kids have tears in their eyes from laughing so hard, and it's so infectious even Wanda's stomach hurts.

"Try it! Try it!" Lila urges Cooper, and he staggers upwards.

"Okay, okay, I got this," he says, and places his hands on the wall. Lila puts on some music, something poppy with a loud base-line, and Cooper squats down low. The girls dissolve into laughter as he begins to pop his bottom, doing his best to wiggle and move, and looking incredibly awkward. Lila stands up and gets next to him, and she's not any better. Soon they're just one laughing, helpless mess as the kids attempt to 'werk it', and Wanda can't help but chortle at the awkward hilarity.

"What is happening?" a voice comes from the doorway, and they all turn to see Pietro watching them, completely mystified.

So of course they sit him down and force him to watch the video, and he doesn't get the humor in it quite as much as the others, but he laughs pretty hard when he watches Lila and Cooper's best efforts.

"Well, you try it!" Cooper tells him.

Pietro stares him down for a second, pursing his lips, then stands up. "Fine, I will," he says, and adjusts his jeans. He melodramatically flips his hair, gives a boy-band look at Lila, and then settles against the wall. He nods at Wanda, who presses play on a random song, and Nicki Minaj blasts.

Apparently all those years of cardio to the extreme have given Pietro a pretty nice ass, because he can _get down_. He pops and wiggles to the beat with ease, bobbing his head up and down and sending over-the-top sultry looks towards the kids. His arms even come away from the wall, wind-milling slowly out to the side as he dances.

The others howl with laughter at the spectacle. Lila flops to the floor, Cooper holds his stomach, and Wanda has to swipe away at the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You like that? You like it?" Pietro asks. He tries to keep a straight face, but his face bubbles with laughter at the end, and he has to duck his head to keep from dropping his character. He grunts out "seductively" to the tune, and begins to dance away from the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Clint yells, and the kids whirl around to the doorway. He's planted solidly in the middle, hands on his hips and casting a stern eye over the occupants. Wanda fumbles with the iPod in shock, taking more than a few seconds to press pause, and Pietro nearly falls over as he attempts to stand up.

It's silent for a few seconds as Clint stares them down. Wanda isn't sure if she should be ashamed or not, but nobody says anything for a hot second.

Then Lila pipes up. "We were twerking, Daddy!"

"You were teaching my kids how to twerk?" Clint asks, directing his question at Pietro. He points a finger at Wanda.

"She was here first."

"Hey!" Wanda says.

"It's funny!" Cooper says, and Clint raises an eyebrow.

"That wasn't even any good," he says, and Pietro's jaw drops.

"Did you see me? I was masterful, Old Man," he scoffs.

Clint shakes his head and folds his arm, leaning against the doorway with all the world-weariness of Ebenezer Scrooge. "Nah."

Pietro gestures to the wall, stepping aside gallantly. "Please, be my guest. You try."

Clint peers at Pietro, then shrugs and steps forward. "All right."

The kids cheer with glee as Clint rolls his head and shoulders. "Twerk-ing con-test! Twerking con-test!" they chant, and Wanda presses play once more.

Clint gets right into it, dropping even lower than Pietro. His butt moves back and forth easily, thrusting on the beat. His hands are on his knees, and he even winds his torso in time with the music. All his days and nights working out and going on missions have apparently aided his body too, because his rear settles into the rhythm just as easily as Pietro.

Pietro sags against the wall with laughter, his shoulders shaking. Wanda and the kids can't help but lie on the ground, guffawing at the ludicrous sight, and the music blasts and Clint twerks and the room is loud and everything is perfect.

Until Laura speaks up. "What in the world is going on here?"

It's like a repeat of last time; the same fumbling and stumbling and awkward stammering. Except that in Clint's case, he freezes where he stands, rear extended and face flushed. "Uh, h-hey, babe!" he says.

Laura's face is disapproving, her arms crossed over her swollen belly, and Wanda swallows.

"How-" Clint's voice cracks and he clears his throat. "How much of that did you see?"

Laura stares at him silently for a moment, her eyes narrow, then holds up her cell-phone, camera app still open. "Most of it," she says, laughing, and the tension in the room dissolves with a sigh of relief.

Clint immediately drops back into the dance move again, backing up to her and grinding as best he can on her stomach. "You like it? Think it's nice?" he asks her, and she laughs as she shoves him away.

"Please, honey, we already have one child on the way," she says, but she taps his butt anyways.

Soon they pit the two men against each other in an epic twerking battle, and the room seems pretty split; Wanda, of course, on the side of Pietro, Laura on the side of her husband's particularly fine specimen of rear, and the kids fluctuate back and forth so often no verdict can really be reached.

Then Pietro pulls Wanda up and off the floor. "Come on, _myshka_ , your turn," he says, and though she laughs and shakes her head, he forces her to stay standing.

The music changes to something a bit more slow, but still with that same heavy base-line, so it's a little more manageable. And since Pietro won't let her go and it's all in good fun, she gets low and goes for it.

She's not half-bad, truth be told; the workouts Natasha has her do and the grueling battles have paid off. She finds she can settle into an easy rhythm, and it's fun to wiggle with the best of them. Soon it's a twerking circle, comprised of Wanda, Pietro, Clint, and Lila. Laura laughs and videotapes the whole thing, egging them on.

And Cooper? Well…Cooper watches Wanda with wide eyes and a hot blush quickly spreading over his cheeks.

oOoOo

Later that night, long after the kids have gone to bed, Pietro steals downstairs to grab a glass of water. He tiptoes through the dark living room, only to see the kitchen light on. Music quietly plays over the radio, and Laura washes dishes at the sink. Clint watches her as he sharpens an arrow head at the counter. Pietro comes to a stop, not sure if he's interrupting anything, as they're engaged in soft conversation.

"…ending in well," he hears Laura say, and Clint hums in affirmation.

"They're doing pretty greatl."

"I'm glad," Laura sighs. "They deserve it."

Clint hums again, squinting down the tip of his arrow, and they lapse into an easy silence. Pietro is about to step forward when Laura turns towards her husband, a smug smile on her face.

"Honey?"

"Hmm?"

"Wanna do that twerking for me again?"

A smile slowly stretches across Clint's face, then he sets down the arrow and crosses to his wife. He steals behind her and wraps his hands around her, grabbing the area just below her stomach. He presses deep kisses into the nape of her neck, and she sighs into him.

"Ohh, you know I do," he says.

Pietro decides he can do without that glass of water.

oOoOo

 **Thanks for reading! Please drop me review and tell me what you thought.**

 **Also, in response to Kelsocspanatarailka, I currently ship Clint and Laura with all my heart and soul. Fuck me sideways I love them so much. I used to ship Clintasha pretty hard, then Laura was in the scee for five minutes and I fell head over heels for this ship. They're pretty much the only people I really ship in the Avengers verse; sure, I ship the other canon people, but not nearly as hard. I don't know. Don't ship Bruce and Natasha, though. Sorry Joss :/**


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